Insidious
by Channel D
Summary: Tim's life should be rosy...he's had his current girlfriend for over a month! But then why is life getting him down? And why doesn't the team notice anything? Multi-chaptered drama, written for the NFA Tim in Peril challenge. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Insidious**

**by channelD**

_written for: _the NFA _Tim in Peril_ challenge

_rating:_ T

_genre:_ drama

_**warning:**_ domestic violence

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

**Chapter 1**

- - - - -

"…and that's the sum of the lieutenant's financial records," Tim said, standing hands on hips before the plasma screen. Taking care not to look anywhere but straight ahead, he waited, listening, hoping for Gibbs…Tony…Ziva…any of them to say, _Good job, McGee_ or _Well done _or even just _Well, that solves that mystery._ But it wasn't forthcoming.

"So what was she doing with all that money she withdrew?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh…"

"Trace it, McGee!" his boss snapped. "David—We do know about the down payment made on the car she didn't pick up. Go talk to the dealership."

Tim frowned, just a bit. He wouldn't have minded being given a field call on this fine October day. But no—once a digger of electronic data, always a digger, so it seemed.

_That's all I'll ever be to them: a geek. I don't have what it takes to be a real LEO._

Where had that come from; that sudden doubt? He couldn't think what that might be.

_A real LEO would have his talents evident. He wouldn't have to keep proving himself._

There it was again! Swallowing, he went back to his work. Or tried to.

"Everything okay, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim looked up. Gibbs had left the room. Ziva likewise had departed quietly. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

Tony leaned back in his chair, studying him before answering. "How's Ms. DeeDee?"

"Great. DeeDee's great."

"It's just that…you've been dating her for over a month, now, and usually your girlfriends break free and run off screaming before this point," Tony said, his eyes twinkling.

"Thanks a lot," Tim snorted, feeling his face go red. It was true, DeeDee Alanson was one of the longest relationships he'd ever had in his short, sorry love life. He'd been infatuated with her ever since the pretty, strawberry-blond grad student had moved into his apartment building. That she was building up a dog-walking business had given him a chance to get to know her. And that led to dating. He sometimes had to pinch himself to realize his good fortune. For now, DeeDee was his…all his.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by that," Tony added. "She seemed nice enough, the one time I met her. I wish you two luck. Hey; Melanie from Legal and I are going to that new Ethiopian restaurant in Georgetown Friday night. You two want to come with?"

Tim shook his head. "I know DeeDee would say 'no'. She says it's too early in our relationship to spend time with other couples; she wants me all to herself right now."

Tony smirked. "Women. Okay then. Another time." His phone rang and he turned to answer it.

- - - - -

When Ziva returned, Tim was out at lunch. Tony was dining on a microwaved bowl of soup at his desk. "In all of your boyfriends," Tony said without preamble, "did you ever tell any of them that you didn't want to go out with other couples; that you just wanted to have him for yourself?"

Ziva considered the broken syntax for a moment. "Perhaps, once or twice. It is nice to be alone with your loved one at times. Are you having relationship troubles, Tony?" There was almost a wink in her voice.

"Me? No! Ha ha. I never have troubles. No, it was something McGee said to me."

"McGee is having troubles with DeeDee? That is a shame. She seems nice. And she loves his dog."

"I don't know that they're having _troubles_, exactly…"

"Still, they have been dating for more than a month, yes? McGee's girlfriends do not usually last that long."

"That's a rather callous way of putting it," Tony said with a frown.

"Ah, let me guess. You used the same words to McGee, did you not?"

"I'm sure I used _at least one_ different word in there," Tony huffed. "Why are we so involved in our little Probie's love life, anyway?"

"_I _am not involved in it at all," said Ziva, proudly. "I am _happy_ that McGee has found someone. _You_ are the one who keeps sticking his noose in where it does not belong."

"The expression is, 'sticking his _nose_ in,' and no, I do not."

"Never known you to stick your nose in, Tony," Gibbs said, coming by. "Though sticking it into your work now and then would be a good thing."

"On it, boss," Tony called, and proceeded to get busy.

- - - - -

Gibbs sent Tim down to Abby's lab in the afternoon to confer on an issue with her. Tim went with reluctance; it seemed to him that his Goth friend had been giving him the cold shoulder recently. Why this could be, he didn't know, although he had spent an hour here and there searching his memory for any offence he might have given her.

"Oh, it's you," Abby said coldly, when Tim entered. "I was hoping for…Ziva, or, or, Tony."

"Tony?" Tim scowled. "How can Tony help you trace a computer worm?"

"Tony is not stupid, McGee!!"

"I never said he was," Tim said, shrinking back a bit,

"You got that right, mister! Tony has plenty of smarts!"

"Why are you mad at me, Abby?" Tim pressed, although a small voice in his mind said, _if she's mad at you, it's probably because you said something stupid. Like you often do._ "Forget it. I'm sorry." He said in the next breath.

"I hope you are," Abby grumbled, appearing slightly mollified. "Pull up a stool, and let's get to work."

- - - - -

It was late when Tim got home. The living room lamp, which was on a timer, was on. Jethro met him at the door with a soft _woof._

"Hey, how are you boy?" Tim asked, giving the German shepherd enough scratching to make the dog wiggle all over in delight. "Did you have a good day? Give those squirrels in the park a good chasing?"

DeeDee had left a note for him in the kitchen. _I left you a portion of the lasagna I made in the fridge. Just microwave it. Next time, can't you give me more notice that you're not going to be home in time for supper?_

The words sounded a little harsh, but her usual smiley face drawing was at the bottom, above her signature. He couldn't stay mad at DeeDee. He couldn't even _get_ mad at DeeDee. She was the best thing to ever come into his life, bar none.

He watched TV for awhile, and then read a few chapters in a book. Just about the time that he was getting ready for bed, a knock came at his door.

"DeeDee!" he said in some surprise. As always, she looked ravishing, wearing a tight-fitting turtleneck and designer jeans.

She swept past him, not waiting for an invitation to come in. Jethro rose and wagged his tail. "Timothy, I cooked dinner for you. I would have expected you to come by and say 'thank you', at the least."

"Uh, I'm sorry. I should have. But it was after 10 when I got in, and—"

"—and you didn't think. Well, I know how my sweet man loves to eat, and I'm sure my lasagna drove all thoughts from his mind," she said, pulling his head down to her height for a kiss.

"It did," Tim admitted. DeeDee was a pretty good cook.

"But you still should have come up to see me. Bad Timothy," she scolded. "You know I can't exist without seeing my Timothy."

She was getting a little grabby. "Uh, DeeDee, it's midnight and I do have to work in the morning. Early."

She looked him in the eye. "What is more important to you, Timothy? NCIS, or…" she pulled him in for another kiss.

This was not the first time she had asked him this trick question. But it was only Tuesday night, and he did still have days of work ahead. "Not tonight, DeeDee. Sorry."

Her face darkened. "Most of my former boyfriends knew where their priorities were," she snapped. "Where do you see our relationship going, Timothy?"

"Um…" All his time spent reading women's magazines, and Tim was still flustered that he only thought like a man.

"Well, you just think about that, bud," she said, though she bent down to give Jethro a friendly scratch behind the ears. "I have a feeling I'll just be too busy for _you_ for the next couple of nights. Maybe Friday…"

"Friday?" Tim perked up, remembering. "Hey, there's a new Ethiopian restaurant…a friend and his date are going…maybe…"

"Oh, no, Timothy," DeeDee said, now purring. "I don't share my time with you with _anyone_ else. And I would hope you'd feel that way, too. I want you _all_ to myself."

"Of course I do," Tim said automatically, but feeling he probably meant it. Why _wouldn't_ he want to be alone with her?

"Just you don't come home late again without telling me," she scolded once more as she went out.

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Just do it. I would think someone as supposedly smart as you could figure out how."

- - - - -

The team was out in the field the next day; the weather now cool and damp. A double homicide in Rock Creek Park, possibly related to their current case, kept them busy. At one point Tim slipped on mud and the NCIS camera he had been holding went flying.

Gibbs retrieved it from a patch of wet grass. "Mind taking a little more care with agency equipment, McGee?" he frowned.

_I would think someone as supposedly smart as you could figure out how._ "Sorry, boss," Tim said, blushing. "That was stupid of me."

Gibbs gave him a sharp look; the bit after the apology was unusual for his agent. "Clean it up, and get back to work."

"Yes, boss."

Tim went back to snapping the scene. At one point he nearly stepped on a piece of evidence that Tony was about to bag, causing Tony to yell at him.

"Sorry, sorry," Tim said, his face red yet again. "I'm just stupid."

On the way back to NCIS, Tim sat quietly, ignoring the others, as if something had embarrassed him supremely. He couldn't have put his finger on it if asked. There was only the lingering, nagging, feeling that he was, indeed, stupid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

- - - - -

Tim and DeeDee had a nice weekend together. They went to a movie, then to the zoo, and then to dinner at a diner "where nothing could be finer," DeeDee sang.

"Than to have your ham and eggs in Carolina?" Tim chimed in, and they both laughed.

"We could go to Chattanooga," DeeDee said, impulsively. "Want to?"

"Tennessee?"

"Of course, Chattanooga in Tennessee, dummy. Do you know of any other Chattanooga?"

Tim winced. "Dee, I don't like it when you call me 'dummy.'"

"It's a term of affection, my little dodo," she said, one hand stroking his chin.

"That's not much better," he sighed.

"My big dodo?"

He had to smile at that. She was droll, sometimes. "Tomorrow," he said, changing the subject. "Ziva's having the team over to her house for dinner and card games. I thought—"

"Timothy! No! I just…" she started to cry.

"What's wrong?" he said, alarmed. "Did I forget something? What did I forget?"

"No, it's nothing," she said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. "Go on. Go without me. Have a good time."

"But I don't _want_ to go without you!" he said, flustered and worried. "And you're specifically invited!"

"If you loved me," DeeDee said, forcing out the words through her chokes, "you would want to spend more time with just _me._ Timothy, you see these people at work every day. I have almost _no_ time with you. But don't worry about me. I'll manage."

"I won't go," Tim said firmly. "Not if it means that much to you."

"You're the best, Timothy," she said, hugging him tightly. "Don't ever abandon me."

"Why would I do that?" he said, smiling once more. "You're all I need."

"That's what I keep telling you," she laughed.

- - - - -

"This young man's cause of death was anything _but_ natural, Jethro. Unless he beat himself to death, which I find highly unlikely. Look here, at these marks…"

Tim normally listened to Ducky's findings, particularly those at the crime scene where things were still fresh and unknown, but on that Monday he had a hard time paying attention. He was surprised by how eager he was, frighteningly eager, to hear how the card party at Ziva's had gone. Not that anyone had brought the subject up; not yet, anyway. He would have done so himself, but…but…it seemed somehow _wrong_ to do so.

Did he want to hear that his coworkers, his friends, had had a good time? Of course. Did he want them to say that they wished he'd been there? Well, yes, that would be nice, too; however unlikely it might be. But there was something, niggling, inside of him that said, _You have a girlfriend now. As she's said, you don't need anyone else. Thinking you do makes you disloyal to her._

So he shoved his curiosity aside and paid attention to his work at the crime scene.

- - - - -

"What did you do to make Abby mad at you, McGee?" Tony said to him suddenly when the team had returned to NCIS.

Tim looked around. As usual, Tony had waited until Gibbs was out of the room to bring up a non-work-related issue. "I wasn't aware that I had done anything."

Tony sneered. "Oh, come on, McGoo. After years of you two making cow eyes at each other, off and on, I would think you would know when you had royally ticked off our Abbs. All she could say Saturday at our card game was, _McGee, McGee, McGee_, always adding that she wasn't going to talk about you."

"She is jealous," Ziva jumped in. "I told you that already, Tony."

"Did she say that to you?" Tony challenged.

"No, but—"

"Aha! Then I'll stick with my gut reaction, which is that McGee made her mad and made her cry."

"I made her cry?" Tim asked, now worried. "What did she say?"

"You did not make her cry, McGee," said Ziva. "Tony exaggerated. But I am positive that she is jealous of DeeDee and of the time you spend with her."

Tim didn't know what to say. He and Abby had not been an item in a long time; hadn't even had a casual/friendship date in months. While it was true that she tended to be a little suspicious of anyone he dated, the same way that he was with her dates, surely she was grown-up enough to wish him good fortune when he finally found it?

He felt confused, even a little dizzy. His stomach gnawed at him. Surely love was supposed to feel better than this?

"Yeah, well, anyway, you missed a fun night, McGee," said Tony, giving Tim an unreadable look.

_So now I know. But I was pretty sure it would have been fun. Darn it._ He would just have to work harder on DeeDee, to get her to go out with his friends.

It occurred to him that he didn't even know any of DeeDee's friends. Or her family. She never spoke of them.

- - - - -

A week later, he barely made it into work. Gibbs glanced up at him, and then did a double take, studying his lined face. "McGee, why are you here? If you're sick, you should stay home."

"I'm fine, boss," Tim said. One hand involuntarily went to his stomach, which hurt like the devil.

"No, you're not. Go see Ducky…That's not a _request_, McGee."

Tim sighed and nodded, and then headed for the elevator. He just needed to convince Ducky that there was nothing much wrong with him; which was true, after all. More than anything, he just wanted to have a normal day at work, with the people he thought of as his friends.

The ME bade Tim to sit on one of the tables, which Tim did with a little difficulty. Ducky noted Tim's facial expression and body language. "How long have you been having these stomach pains, Timothy?"

Wincing, Tim wished that Ducky wouldn't call him by the same name that DeeDee did, but then, the man had been doing this for much longer than Tim had known DeeDee. "Just today."

"Hmmm. Monday. The start of the workweek. Feelings of stress; of inordinate amounts of pressure. Is everything all right between you and your team?"

"It's good. Really, it is. I'm _happy_ to be at work!"

Ducky eyed him, but didn't speak for a long minute. "Any vomiting, belching, feelings of bloating, excess gas, headaches, flu symptoms? You _have _had your flu shots, haven't you?"

"Two weeks ago. And no; no other symptoms. I just need to take an antacid or something."

"An antacid is not going to cure the amount of pain you're apparently experiencing, and you really don't want to be masking symptoms. Timothy, this is no place for you to be. Go home. Have a nice day off. If the condition doesn't right itself by tomorrow, call your doctor."

Tim met Ducky's stare with a glare. "I am _fine_," he said forcefully. "I don't need a day off. Just tell Gibbs that I can go back to work." His tone softened. "Please, Ducky."

"I can't do that, in good conscience, Timothy. Ignoring your problem could lead to serious difficulties. I am certainly not going to certify you for duty."

"I'll go home, then," Tim said through gritted teeth. He stormed out of autopsy and went back to the squad room. In haste he gathered his things, filled out a leave slip and slapped it on Gibbs' desk, and then departed.

- - - - -

The drive home made him feel even sicker. He didn't _want_ to go home. He _wanted_ to be at work. He liked DeeDee a lot, maybe even loved her, but over the weekend, he'd missed his friends from work. Going home meant that his world became narrower; its focus only DeeDee (and Jethro).

_Isn't that what love is about? Focusing on just one person, to the exclusion of everyone else? I guess it is…_

Jethro greeted him eagerly when he entered the apartment. The dog recognized that this was not a part of his master's normal routine, and probably concluded that the master had come home to play with him. There was a note on the refrigerator.

_Timothy, I need my dog-walker money. I have to buy some textbooks._

Tim always paid DeeDee in cash. After that unpleasant experience with the girlfriend who would steal money from him (even though she always paid him back), he was leery of even writing a check to DeeDee. He acknowledged to himself that it was a silly fear; he wouldn't be dating her if he didn't feel he could trust her, and even _thinking_ about it made him feel a little ashamed of himself. But paying her in cash was his routine, and she didn't object. It was always on Friday when he pushed an envelope of cash under her door before he left for work, and here it was only Monday. _Well, giving her an advance this once wouldn't hurt…_

It wasn't like the old days, the not-too-long-ago days, when he'd had money to burn. The worldwide economic crisis had blown away the profits of his books that he had invested, and now he lived on his salary, like everyone else. So he was careful with money. DeeDee charged $15/day for the dog walking; this was a little cheaper than most other services in the area, but DeeDee was trying to build up a customer list. At $75/week, it was an expense that Tim certainly had to figure into his budget, but it was worth it. Jethro was healthy and appeared happy.

The thought came to Tim suddenly. _It's not even 10 a.m. DeeDee doesn't come by to walk Jethro until 11 or so._ He knew that she had morning classes, then came home and walked the four dogs in her care, then studied and had one class in the late afternoon. _But she's already been in my apartment this morning…why??_

Carefully he did a search of his small apartment, making sure that his few valuables were still there. Nothing appeared missing, and his checkbook was still in his safe. He even checked the last use time of his computer, but he didn't really suspect her of tampering with it; she was an art major and she reveled in being a Luddite. No, the computer hadn't been used since he'd used it last night.

_Why am I suspecting my girlfriend of anything? What kind of a jerk does that make me?!_ Still, it was strange that she couldn't have waited until she came by for Jethro to leave her note.

He took from the refrigerator the pitcher of sugar-free punch that DeeDee had made for him. Her only secret recipe, she'd said. It was delicious; no doubt about that. _Ah; this is a fresh pitcher. So that's why she came by._ He felt sorry that he'd suspected her of any wrong-doing. He'd have to do something to make up for it.

The drink soothed his dry throat, but then his stomach reminded him why he'd been sent home from work. Groaning, he went to his bedroom and stretched out on the bed. _Stress…_

Jethro padded into the room, his tennis ball in his mouth, eyes hopeful of some playtime. "Oh, not today, buddy," Tim moaned. "Maybe Dee will play with you a little when she comes by."

The dog continued to look at him for a long moment, as if processing this, and his long tail slowly wagged. Then he turned and trotted back out through the narrow opening of the almost-shut door.

- - - - -

Tim must have fallen asleep. He woke on hearing Jethro's gentle _woof_ from the next room, and the faint sound of a key turning in the lock. _DeeDee; it must be. Yes; it's almost noon._ He panicked a little on thinking she'd find him here, but then realized that was unlikely. She always parked on the side of the apartment building, and he in back, so she never saw whether his car was there.

"Hello, Jethro, my furry little pumpykins," Tim heard DeeDee coo. "Ooops, did I leave the lights on when I was here this morning? My bad. Don't want to run up Timothy's electric bill…"

_Ooops. The lights were my bad. Don't look in the bedroom._ Yes, he was sure he didn't want to see her then. He just wanted to be left alone. _Take Jethro out for his walk. Please, just go._

Jethro woofed again, and then came back into the bedroom, and woofed once more.

Tim thought several unkind words toward his dog then, for of course DeeDee was only a few steps behind Jethro.

"Timothy! Why aren't you at work?"

"'M sick," he croaked. "Don't come near me; it may be catching."

"Nonsense," she said. "You just wanted to come home and spend some time alone, without telling me, your girlfriend," she pouted.

"That's not true…I'd rather be at work…"

"Oh, so your work is more important to you than I am??!"

"No, Dee, that's not…"

She glared at him. "Did you see my note? I need the dog walking money. Now."

Painfully, he sat up. "Okay; hold on." Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out $75. That left him $2. He'd hoped to order in pizza later in the day so he wouldn't have to cook, but now he couldn't do that.

She snatched the money. "I'll take Jethro for his walk now. You'd better be asleep when I get back with him."

Why did those words sound like a threat?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

- - - - -

"Hey! _Hey!_ Don't you just walk away from me when I'm talking to you!"

Tim turned, and frowned. "But, Dee; I have to go to work. You understand…"

"What I _understand_ is that you're using that excuse to get out of a conversation that you don't like! Now don't you _dare_ leave until we're finished!"

"I'm sorry, but Gibbs insists we all be there by—_whoof!_" He fell back in surprise when she head-butted him, hard. Sure, he'd seen her coming at him, but he hadn't expected she would really hit him…

It was two weeks after the start of his stomach pains. He'd stayed out of work for two days with them; then they seemed to lessen and he tried to live his life around their dull aches. At first he'd wondered, fleetingly, if she had been trying to poison him. He spent one late night crying his eyes out, ashamed of himself for even thinking for a second that she would do that. He was a miserable, low-down skunk who didn't deserve the happiness that she had given him, and he knew that he should be worshiping at her dainty feet.

But it hadn't helped that DeeDee had teased him about his "cowardly stomach." "A big, bad, special agent like you—Timothy's timid tummy! That's so funny! You could threaten to throw up on crooks!"

"It's _not_ funny," he growled, particularly in remembering the number of times he had thrown up at a crime scene in his early days.

"Aw, lighten up, my man," she said, tickling him under his chin. "I think it's adorable. Some people have strong chins. Others have powerful physiques. You…have an emotional stomach."

It didn't sound adorable to Tim. "I have to go to work now, Dee. I'm sorry."

"No!" she whined.

He turned and stared at her. "No?"

"Surely someone as bright as you can figure out an excuse to get out of going into work if I want you to stay home."

"I've already taken two sick days this month. I'm not going to lie about being sick."

Her face hardened. "All right. Go, then. I don't know when you'll be home, but I'm going to switch my schedule a bit. I'm not sure when I'll be taking Jethro for his walk."

"As long as he gets out in midday, I don't care. It's not like I phone him and ask him."

Again a stare. "Your dog answers the phone??"

"No, we usually just text each other." At her look of incredulity, he said, "For heaven's sake, that was a joke, Dee." He sighed. "Come on, let's go, Dee. You have a class and I need to go."

"You haven't paid me for dog walking."

"It's not Friday yet. It's only Tuesday."

"You didn't pay me last Friday."

It was his turn to stare. "Of course I did! Remember?"

"No, you didn't, and I've been waiting patiently, afraid to bring it up, but…"

Slight worry overtook Tim. Had he really forgotten to pay her? No, he was sure he had put the envelope of three twenties, a ten and a five under her door on his way to work, just like he always did. "Dee, I _did_ pay you."

She started to cry. "Are you saying I'm lying?? Because I would never do that to you, Timothy. And I really, really need the money…"

He _was_ sure he had paid her, but he felt trapped, with no good way out. It was probably worth it just to pay her again and drop the subject. Fortunately, he had just hit the ATM yesterday and had the cash. He handed it to her, and her tears dried up. _So much for the books I was going to buy today…_

_Maybe I_ should_ start paying her by check,_ he thought as he let her hug him.

- - - - -

"Stomach still bothering you, McGee?" Tony asked as Tim arrived at work just under the wire.

Tim only grunted.

"And you still have not seen a doctor, McGee? It could be a sign of an ulcer."

"That's rarely the root of stomach pains, Ziva," Tim said, hanging up his coat and then sitting at his desk. "I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it," said Gibbs, coming by. "Less talk of stomachs and more of work."

Glad of the chance to throw himself into his work and out of the probing into his health, Tim poured over criminal records for their current case. It was a lot to slog through, though the work was refreshing and he found the day going by fast. He scarcely looked up when Tony and Ziva gathered their things at the end of the work day.

"Are you working overtime, McGee?" Ziva called back to him. "Surely there are better things to do with your evening…?"

"Just for a little while," Tim said back, without looking up.

"You're making a mistaaaaaaake," Tony sang. "With a beautiful babe like DeeDee to go home to, I'm surprised you spend _any_ time here at all!"

That gave Tim pause. Yes, DeeDee was pretty easy on the eyes. "You think so?" he said, almost without realizing that he'd done so.

"Well, yeah, Probie! If she weren't your girl, I could think of at least seventeen different ways that I would…but never mind; she's not my girl. She's yours. But you'd better make sure that you treat her nicely, or she'll soon be someone else's girl. Mark my words." He put on his coat. "And that's code for _Don't stay here too late,_ in case you didn't catch my drift." With a wink, he was gone.

Tim thought a moment, and then kicked his desk in irritation. Why, why, _why_ did this have to be so difficult?! Wasn't love supposed to be easy and dreamy? Why was he avoiding DeeDee now? What was he doing _wrong???_

He worked until 8 o'clock and then signed out. He'd already left a message on DeeDee's phone stating that he would be late. If he was lucky, she wouldn't be _too_ mad.

_Is this what it's all about? Days and nights full of dread?_

His own parents had been happily married for decades. He'd never observed anything like this between them.

_What am I doing wrong?_ he asked himself again. Maybe, like DeeDee said, he was just stupid.

- - - - -

Nonetheless, he was glad to get home to his nice, quiet apartment…

…his apartment that was more quiet than usual…

"Jethro?" Tim called. Strange; the dog always met him at the door. Always. Without fail.

"Jethro?" Flicking on lights as he went, Tim went from room to room, anxiety building as there was no response to his calls. Was his dog sick? Too weak to move? Unconscious somewhere?

Tim went over the small apartment thoroughly. If Jethro was sick, he might have crept into a quiet, secure place. He wasn't under the bed, though, or in the closet, or in the kitchen cabinets. Tim searched and searched again; his throat going dry with worry.

He went over the possibilities. If DeeDee hadn't pushed the door shut when she was done with his walk, maybe Jethro had gotten out. He was a well-trained dog, but the lure of a squirrel might have overwhelmed his training. Grabbing a flashlight, Tim ran out and searched the neighborhood. Block after block, street after street, calling Jethro's name. _How far could he have gone? Wouldn't he have come back by now? Unless…unless…_ Tim's eyes stung as he considered the horrible possibility that the dog had been hit by a car. _But he was wearing his collar, with his dog tags…surely the police would have notified me…_

Two fruitless hours passed, and in misery Tim trudged home. There was nothing more he could do tonight, except make up some _Missing dog_ posters to put out tomorrow before he left for work.

_DeeDee._ It seemed unlikely, but maybe she might have seen something…any little thing at all…like having trouble locking the door (although Tim hadn't had trouble). It was almost 11 p.m., and he was reluctant to call on anyone so late, but this seemed to qualify as an emergency.

She opened the door fairly swiftly; looking ravishing even in flannel pajamas, but her face was stony. Tim was a little taken aback, wondering what he had done now, but then a quiet _whuff_ greeted him as a sleepy-looking Jethro got to his feet and walked toward him, his tail wagging slowly.

"Jethro! You're…I don't understand," he said to DeeDee. "What's he doing here? I've been walking over half of Silver Spring looking for him!" Crouching down, he hugged the dog, who gave his face a good licking but otherwise seemed unperturbed by not being in his own apartment.

"You're a bad man, Timothy," DeeDee scolded. "Staying out late like that."

"I called you…"

"That doesn't matter. I expect you to be home on time for me. How do I know what you're really up to? Are you seeing another woman, maybe?" Her face was close to his, but there was no love in her voice now. It dripped poison.

"No, Dee! I swear I'm not. You're the only woman in my life!"

"Maybe it's time I found myself another man, hmmmmm?"

"No! Please! I beg you; give me another chance!"

"I'll…think about it…"

He did remember then what he was there for. "Why do you have Jethro here? You didn't leave a note or any explanation…"

"Maybe you don't deserve a dog. Dogs need attention and affection, which you don't seem to be doing for Jethro."

"I _do_ love him! And I _do_ care for him! He's such a major part of my life now."

She turned away for a moment, but murmured, "Is that so?"

"Yes. Yes, it is!" He felt himself go pale, a nebulous dread washing over him.

"Well, take your dog and go, then! _That's_ the thanks I get for trying to do right by a helpless beast."

"Dee, please…"

"I said _go!!!"_ Thrusting open her door, she gave him a shove out into the hallway.

"Dee…" He'd dropped his voice to a whisper, out of consideration for other tenants. He didn't want to disturb anyone, or be the center of a scene.

"Go!!!" she hissed again, and shoved him, hard…

…knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

- - - - -

It was a stiff and sore Tim who dragged himself into work the next day. He got there before Tony and Ziva did, thankfully; sparing himself some questions (for the moment) as he painfully eased his shoulder bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. He dug into his work, starting first with a long swallow on his coffee. Maybe he should have gone to the Emergency Room after his fall down the stairs last night. But he hadn't lost consciousness, and nothing seemed broken or sprained; just horribly bruised.

_How could she have done that to me? It _was_ deliberate, wasn't it? Not an accident?_ She had even closed the door after his fall; hadn't checked on him. Only Jethro had seemed concerned.

_I should break up with her._

_I_ can't _break up with her. I_ love _her. And I know she loves me. She just likes to…_

…_to…_

Try as he might, he couldn't rationalize her actions. _It must be me. I'm doing something wrong. If I were a better person, she would be the nice, sweet girl I've seen all the time._

"McGee—"

He looked up at the sound of Ziva's voice; startled. He hadn't heard her come in.

"Are you all right? You keep moving your arm off your desk and down to your side."

"Was I?" It must have been a subconscious action, but yes, his right shoulder did hurt, and felt better hanging straight.

She eyed him for a moment and then turned her attention back to her tea, evidently deciding that he didn't want to talk.

It was just after Tony arrived that Gibbs swung in, pocketing his cell phone. "Gear up! Two Marines involved in a hostage situation in Rockville."

They all rose, but Tim stumbled over his chair; something noisy enough that his teammates didn't miss. "Something wrong with you, McGee?" Gibbs said with a slight growl, as if Tim was deliberately being a bad way to start his day.

"I'm okay, boss," said Tim. "I, uh, tripped and fell last night. Just a little bruised, that's all."

"You'll be okay out in the field?"

Tim knew that Gibbs meant, _Will you be effective?_ He gulped and nodded. Whatever his problems with DeeDee were, he couldn't let them interfere with the job he loved so much.

And he succeeded, through sheer willpower. Assorted bruised areas wailed at him from time to time, but he managed to ignore them, mostly. He was about to congratulate himself as they packed up to return to NCIS when Gibbs jabbed his shoulder. "Hey!" Gibbs snapped. "You get some sleep tonight, or whatever it takes to get over whatever's wrong with you. I don't want to see you doing the broken doll act out in the field, again."

- - - - -

Tim did get a chance to rest that night. DeeDee had left him a note on his refrigerator saying she had to go out of town and wouldn't be back for a few days. _What kind of a person enters someone else's residence to leave a note when she could just have phoned me or emailed me?_ Tim wondered. Still, maybe she had left it when she'd come by midday to walk Jethro. Yes, that was probably it. Nonetheless, that meant that he'd have to make other arrangements for Jethro for the next few days…there was no way that he could take time out in the middle of his undependable work day for a couple days in a row to do that. Sighing, he picked up the phone and arranged to board the dog at a kennel for a few days.

_Days without Jethro…days without DeeDee…what will I do with myself?_ He started laughing without reason. DeeDee had left a fresh pitcher of her fruit punch in the refrigerator. Tim poured himself a glass, and sat down at the table with it, and then started crying. Without DeeDee, without Jethro, was his life nothing? DeeDee had told him, almost scolded him, over and over, saying he was too involved in his work.

He drank the punch, and his stomach hurt.

Jethro watched him, silently, as if trying to puzzle out what troubled his master. When Tim stretched out on his bed to watch TV, Jethro climbed up with him, and there they both fell asleep.

It was the dog who woke up first, before the knock came at the door. Jethro gave a short bark, as if to say, _If you're not a friend, beware. I _will_ protect this home!_

"Easy, boy," Tim said. "Let's see who it is."

Almost 9 o'clock. Tim peered out the peephole and then opened the door. "Tony!"

"Evening, McGee," said Tony, stepping by him and coming in, without invitation. "Hey, Jethro! I saved half a cheeseburger for you!" He unwrapped the sandwich and tossed it to the grateful dog.

"What's up?" asked Tim of his partner.

"You know, I was about to ask the same thing of you," Tony replied, sitting down at Tim's desk chair. "What was with you at work today? You looked and acted like you'd gone two rounds with the world heavyweight champion. And lost, of course, because you're you."

"Thanks a lot," Tim glared. "As I told you guys, I stumbled and fell. End of story."

Tony patted the attentive Jethro, who had now decided that Tony was his new best friend. "But that's not like you, Probie. Granted, you'd never make it as a ballerina, but you're not clumsy. So what really happened?"

Tim dodged the question. "Would you like a beer?"

"Okay." He followed Tim to the refrigerator. "What do you have?"

"About the same as I usually do. You know I don't drink much."

Tony peered around Tim. "Oho! What's in the pitcher? Sangria?"

"No, just a simple, non-alcoholic fruit punch. DeeDee makes it for me."

"Well, let me have a glass of that. Let's see what your girlfriend is capable of."

Tim poured him a glass. Tony drank a gulp, shrugged, and drank the rest. "Not bad, I suppose. Different. What's in it?"

"Dunno. Never asked."

"So you're not going to tell me what really happened to you yesterday?"

"Tony—"

"Ah; you've reached the exasperation level. That means the answer is 'no'." Tony was smiling, but it was a concerned smile. "But if there's anything I can do to help…"

"Thanks, but I really don't need help."

"Okay. But Gibbs is right, you know. You have to be at the top of your game when we're out in the field. We have to depend on each other."

Tim nodded, and saw Tony out. For a guy who wasn't very deep, Tony could sure give one a lot to think about.

- - - - -

Tim scurried into the squad room the next morning, making it just on time. Dropping off Jethro at the kennel had taken longer than expected. "Well, at least I beat Tony in," he murmured.

Gibbs hung up his phone. "DiNozzo's out sick. Said he was throwing up all night."

"Does he have the flu?" Ziva asked, and unconsciously reached for her hand sanitizer.

"He said he didn't know, and asked me not to ask questions; he just wants to die in peace," Gibbs said with a slight smile. "I'm sure he'll be back here tomorrow."

"Poor guy," said Tim, and reflected on how nice it was of Tony to have stopped by his place last night. _He was probably coming down with something even then._ Tim rubbed his own hands with sanitizer.

- - - - -

"Speak up, Tony. Or is that as loud as you can go, because you're sick?"

"_Sorry, Abbs,"_ Tony rasped on the phone. _"M' throat hurts. You've got to get over to McGee's place and test that pitcher of punch he has in his fridge. I think it's poisoned."_

Abby shook, in fear and fury that anyone would harm her boys. "How do you know that McGee has punch in his fridge? And why would it be poisoned? Are you saying he poisoned _you?"_

"_No, that clingy girlfriend of his made it, he told me. I stopped by McGee's last night and had some. I think it may be behind what's made him strange…and me sick."_

"McGee and I aren't exactly talking right now," Abby hedged. "I don't think he'd let me sample it."

"_You have a key to his place. Just go over there."_

She hesitated. "Tony, it doesn't make sense that you would get violently ill and he would react differently to the punch. I think you just have the flu."

"_Well, maybe she made him an extra-lethal batch today."_

"Look; no one has a more suspicious mind than I do, particularly when it comes to hussies inveigling themselves into my friends' lives. But I think you've been watching a few too many suspense movies, Tony. Lay off the Hitchcock for awhile and watch some nice romantic comedies."

"_I'd rather stick a needle in my eye."_

"Good bye, Tony," Abby said, but she was smiling. As she hung up, though, her smile turned to a frown. _What if Tony's right?..._She shook that thought away. Just because she didn't like McGee's DeeDee, she wasn't going to lead a witch hunt against her. Even if everyone would expect that of her. No, McGee would surely come to his senses and shed the little leech in his own sweet time.

- - - - -

The next few days passed uneventfully for Tim, even though he avoided the punch in the refrigerator. If he were to tell the truth, it had seemed to him in the last few batches that it had developed more of an aftertaste; an unpleasant one. Instead he went back to drinking water, coffee and Diet Coke. More than once he was tempted to just pour the punch down the drain, and clean the pitcher…but then he thought he _might_ like a glass, at some point. It _had_ tasted good when DeeDee had first started making it for him.

After being out sick for two days, Tony came back to work. "McGee," he said as he hung up his coat, "I think you should lay off DeeDee's punch. It has a nasty kick."

Tim smiled. "Maybe you're allergic to something in it."

"The DiNozzos do not do allergies," Tony said stiffly. "We have the world's strongest immune systems."

"Is that why you were out for two days?" Ziva asked, smiling knowingly.

"That was not an allergy. There must have been arsenic or some other poison in it. Anyone would have been sickened by it." An eyebrow went up. "Why aren't _you_ sick, McGee?"

"If you're referring to the punch, I haven't had any for a few days. Though I might have some tonight."

"Don't do it just to irk me, McGee. You can think of other ways to do that."

"Think of ways to do some work. I'm sure it'll come to you," said Gibbs, finally joining the conversation. "DiNozzo—why are you here? I've seen corpses with more color than you have."

"I'm fine, boss."

"Well, you just stay at your desk today. We have five agents here out with the flu today. We don't need anyone else collapsing on us."

"Okay," Tony said simply, while wondering what he could best do with his time if the team went out into the field.

Sure enough, within an hour the team was headed out on a new case. "Do not do it," Ziva hissed at Tony as she passed his desk.

"Do what?"

"Whatever you are thinking of doing that involves McGee's girlfriend."

Tony gave her a half-sneer, but sobered as she left. _Am I either the lone genius who sees there's a problem…or am I just nuts?_

- - - - -

DeeDee was home the following night. "Why haven't you drunk the punch?" was practically the first thing she said to him. "It's good for you!"

"Um…I think I'm allergic to something in it," he punted, remembering Tony's line.

She grumbled, but didn't force the issue. "You've probably just been eating a lot of unhealthy stuff while I've been gone. You haven't had me around to care for your tender tum-tum."

_Gah. Do all women talk this way?_ Tim only said, "How was your trip?"

"Okay," she said. "Where's Jethro?"

"I boarded him at a kennel. I didn't know when you'd be back. I'll pick him up after work tomorrow."

"A kennel!! That's no way to treat your pet!!"

"Dee, it's a perfectly nice place. Jethro has been there before and loves it. The staff and facilities are great, and it gets high marks."

"Still, that's so impersonal. I thought you cared about your dog!"

"Be reasonable, Dee. What else could I do? I could ask Mrs. Beesom in apartment 5 to walk him, but she's been sick lately…"

"You could take some time off from your hoity-toity job to be with your dog. If you cared."

"I _do_ care, and…oh, let's just drop the subject, Dee."

"Coward. You're giving up because you know I'm right and you can't refute it."

"No, I know _I'm_ right, but you won't give up!"

"Are you insulting me now??"

"No, Dee. I love you." _Why do I always put my foot in my mouth??_

"Yes, you did." She shoved him.

"Please don't do that, Dee."

"Then don't insult me, you jerk!"

"Dee, let's not fight. I don't like it when we fight."

"Coward. Coward. Coward." She shoved him again, and he stumbled into the table; pain shooting up his leg.

"Stop it, Dee."

She punched him this time…in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow. That hurt, Dee." He would not hit back. He had been brought up to never hit a woman. While his FLETC training had mostly overridden that chivalrous notion, he was still exceedingly reluctant to do so, unless his life was in danger.

"Coward. Coward. Weakling."

He tried to block the blows, and was successful…except for a sudden one that got through and connected solidly under his eye, dropping him to the floor.

As he lay on the floor, brought low by pain, he heard her mutter as she left the apartment, "Men these days! Pathetic weaklings!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

- - - - -

Tony looked up the next morning, hearing Tim's familiar tread in the squad room. "Morning, Probie."

"Morning," Tim grunted, shedding his belongings.

"Sunglasses? Are you suddenly a celebrity?"

"It's bright out."

Tony looked toward the window, which showed a milky sky. "Uh…not particularly…"

"Lose the shades, McGee," said Gibbs, coming in.

Slowly Tim took the glasses off. "The light does hurt my eyes," he said. It was then easy to see why. One was enormously blackened; yellow and purple around the black.

"Who did that to you, McGee?" said Ziva in an icy tone suggesting a desire to go to battle.

"No one," Tim said simply. "I walked into a door; that's all."

His teammates were silent, their eyes all on him. Gibbs then said, "Go see Ducky; have him give you a cold pack for the swelling."

Tim shrugged but didn't protest. When the elevator doors closed on him, Tony said, "A fall down the stairs, and now this? Boss, someone's been beating up McGee."

"There could be another explanation," Gibbs said. "Or it could happen just like McGee said. We have work to do."

- - - - -

"It reminds me of the time when I was in Madagascar," Ducky intoned. "Ice was a precious commodity, and the outbreak of fights among the soldiers in camp, particularly on Saturday nights once they'd gotten into a little liquor, made for a lot of inventiveness on the medical staff's part. There are a few plants, did you know, that can simulate a soothing feeling on a bruised area, such as—"

"I wasn't in a fight," said Tim, accepting the cold pack from him. "I walked into a door."

"Yes, yes, my boy. So you've said. Although consider the peculiarity of that old statement." He walked up to a nearby broom closet. "To walk into a door and have your eye be bruised implies that your head is leading your body, and you have your head turned and don't see the door. Your face hits it, and the sensitive tissues around the eye bruise and swell. But how likely is that to happen? Not terribly. To genuinely collide with a door, assuming you, like most people, are looking where you are going, your face would have to hit the door knob…which is not likely to happen, at your height."

"But it did happen like I said," Tim insisted.

Ducky studied him. "Well, then, Timothy; be more careful." As Tim hopped down from the table, he added, "And if you want to talk about anything, I am always available."

Tim smiled a bit. "Don't you mostly counsel the dead, Ducky?"

"Counsel? I'm not sure that they benefit from my talks, but in any event, I much prefer speaking with the living. Do try to keep yourself that way."

- - - - -

Tim was interrupted in his work on a cold case by an email from DeeDee.

_When was the last time you aired out Jethro's bedding?! It smells like old, old…dog!_

It wasn't like her to email him at work. Granted, she was one of the few people outside his family who knew that he worked for NCIS, but that was mostly because of their initial professional relationship as his dog walker. If something happened to Jethro, he'd wanted her to have a couple different ways of getting in touch with him.

He emailed her back.

_It hasn't been that long. It's machine washable. I'll wash it tonight if I have time._

Fifteen minutes later a terse reply came.

_You don't deserve to own a dog._

That was cold. He decided not to reply, and dug back into his work. _First she punches me, and now she criticizes how I care for Jethro?_

Now he was a soft touch when it came to his dog. _She does know dogs well. Maybe I haven't been taking care of Jethro as well as I should be._ That just made him despondent.

"Is there anything I can do for you, McGee? Anything at all?" Ziva asked kindly.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." He turned his eyes back to his work, not wanting to see Ziva and Tony watching him.

A little over an hour later he received another email from DeeDee.

_You don't deserve to own a dog at all. Unless you shape up, I will see to it that Jethro is never bothered by you again._

Again he fled from his email tab; now feeling a cold chill. Was that a threat? It certainly sounded like it could be.

She wouldn't take Jethro away from him—would she? DeeDee knew how fond he was of his pet. But she might…she just might…

"Boss," he croaked, "I need to leave work early. Personal emergency."

Gibbs raised an unfriendly eye his way. "You know how the Director feels about leave not scheduled in advance."

"I know, but…"

"Is someone dying? Are _you_ dying?"

"No, but…"

"Then I can't approve it. You can put in a leave slip for _tomorrow,_ if you want."

Tim closed his mouth so he wouldn't say something he'd regret. He _did_ know the leave policy, and how difficult it was nowadays to take time off suddenly. Not that he felt like supporting the Director's position when it was _his own_ emergency…

Tomorrow might be too late, though.

Tim pretended to get back to work, but his mind was considering escape plans. _When Gibbs goes for coffee…and Tony's and Ziva's backs are turned…and…_ No; it might work in the short term, but he would get marked AWOL, and that would put him in serious trouble.

_But Jethro's worth the risk…isn't he??_

He grimaced. _I'm mixing apples and German shepherds._

Cautiously, he opened his email tab again. No new messages from DeeDee. He sighed with relief.

Again his mind screamed _Escape! Escape! Save your dog! But how…?_

He remembered, then, that he had a black eye…actually, it brought itself to his attention by throbbing as his stress level increased. _I could go home sick…_

_Gibbs would never buy that. Not after I just tried for annual leave._ Besides, it would be a lie, and he had never been good at lying, even when he could convince his stubborn conscience that it really was necessary.

_Maybe I'm doing the right thing here: not responding to DeeDee. Maybe if I don't give her ammunition…_

For the first time, there was a glimmer of doubt in his mind; doubt that DeeDee truly was doing this all for his own good. But he dismissed this as self-pity. _DeeDee loves me, and is just helping me to be a better person. There's nothing wrong with wanting to improve oneself. _

_DeeDee loves me. This is for my own good._

- - - - -

Opportunity came knocking around noon. A call came in about a body in Marine uniform found in the Potomac River. The team packed up, but Gibbs told Tim to stay behind. "You can't see out of that eye to be of any help." It sounded more accusatory than sympathetic.

When his teammates had left, Tim dithered for several minutes before grabbing his coat and leaving. With any luck, he'd be back before they were; if not, he'd just be charged for not coming back in time for lunch. Gibbs was not enough of an ogre to subject him to Leave Without Pay for being half an hour late from lunch. He's let him get by with taking annual leave, and a warning to not do it again.

_I just need to see for myself that Jethro is okay. Maybe put him back in the kennel until I can find out what DeeDee is really talking about…_

Being a basically honest person, Tim did feel conflicted about skipping out on work. His still-tender stomach panged him. He knew, though, that if there was any possibility that DeeDee would harm the dog, he had to stop her.

- - - - -

"Dee?" Tim looked into his apartment, suspecting she was already there.

She sat in his desk chair, smiling an unnatural, chilling smile. Blood was on her hands.

- - - - -

"We're missing something," said Tony as the team returned to the squad room about three hours later. "Where's McShiner?"

"Late lunch?" Ziva suggested.

"It's almost three o'clock. He can't hold out that long. Especially not since I grabbed the last Klownie Kake from the vending machine this morning."

"Call him," Gibbs grunted.

"His phone is going over to voice mail," Ziva said a minute later.

Tony hung up his desk phone. "Neither Abby nor Ducky have seen him all day."

Gibbs sat back in his chair. _Too bad NCIS doesn't register employees coming and going from the building,_ he thought. "Get back to work," he said. "McGee will turn up."

But when 20 minutes had gone by, and Tim hadn't, Gibbs nodded to Ziva. "Still not answering his phone," she said swiftly.

"Boss…I gotta say. I think McGee is in trouble," Tony said soberly.

"That black eye…his fall from the other day…someone has been hurting him," Ziva nodded.

"But who?" asked Gibbs.

Tony jumped in. "My money's on that girlfriend of his. I don't like her."

Ziva chuckled. "McGee—bested by a woman who weighs 60 pounds less than him!"

"That's the danger," said Gibbs. "Men who are abused by their female partners often don't fight back because society has taught them not to hit women; ever."

"Our McGalahad to a 'T'," Tony groaned.

"Find out what you can about her," Gibbs ordered. "If she is an abuser, she may have a record."

Quickly Tony and Ziva divided up tasks. Tony was the first one to hit a wall. "'DeeDee' Alanson. Getting nothing under that. That can't be her real name. Who names their kid that??"

"It may be initials," Ziva surmised, also frowning at her screen for the lack of results. "The letters 'D' and 'D'. But what do they stand for?"

"Debra. Diane. Drusilla. Gah! I don't know."

" 'Alanson' is not that common a surname. We will have to search under that. D. Alanson."

"It would help if we knew where she lived. Did McGee ever say?"

"No, but I would think it would be near him if she comes by everyday to walk his dog."

"No D. Alansons in the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration database…wait; I'm wrong." An image appeared on the plasma screen. "Douglas Alanson, age 62, of Reiserstown. 5'11", 300 pounds, likes German shepherds…" he broke off at the expected headslap from Gibbs. "Okay, no _female_ D. Alansons."

"If she is a grad student, she may not have a car," said Ziva. "Public transportation is all over Silver Spring."

"She probably has a state ID, though, if she doesn't drive. I'll check for that now…aha! Two matches. Donna Alanson, age 71; and Diane Dorothea Alanson, age 24, of 90 Hemlock Street in Silver Spring!"

Ziva stared. "That is McGee's address!"

"Apartment number 11," Tony amended, pointing. "McGee has apartment 3."

"Now we know she has opportunity," Gibbs growled. "Find a possible motive."

"Priors…" Ziva checked other databases. "Diane Dorothea Alanson, born in Charleston, South Carolina. Conviction in 2005 in Charlston for assault on her boyfriend; 30-day sentence in jail. Conviction in 2007 for assault on her live-in partner; plea bargained to another 30 days. 2008 tried for attempted murder of fiancé; no conviction due to a hung jury."

"She's a psycho," Tony breathed. "That enough of a motive?"

"It is for me," said Gibbs. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

- - - - -

Tim crouched beside his dog, his hand on the knife wound, trying to stop the bleeding in the dog's flank. "How did this happen, Dee?" he asked, although he feared the answer. "Did he jump up on you while you were cooking? He does that to me. He just loves people so much…and food, too, of course…" He didn't try to stop his tears. "He's such a good dog. So loving; so trusting…"

DeeDee studied the knife in her hand and didn't say anything, although that ghastly smile still lit her face.

It finally broke through Tim's mind that the fault in the knife wound lay with DeeDee, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. _Well, deal with her later._ "I've got to get him to the animal hospital," he said. First he looked around for something that could be used as a bandage.

"No, I don't think you're going anywhere," said DeeDee then, stroking the knife.

"Dee, look, I think you have some problems. I can help you get the help you need. But first—I have to tend to Jethro."

"_You're_ the problem here, Timothy. You've been a miserable excuse for a boyfriend. And it is my duty to give you the punishment you deserve. I will save other girls from you."

"What…what did I ever do wrong?"

"You have not been respectful to me."

"I've treated you like a _queen_, Dee. I _love_ you. I've told you that again and again."

Slowly she got up and walked to the refrigerator.

"This is nuts, Dee. We'll talk about this when I get back." After tying one of his clean t-shirts around the dog's wound, Tim bent to pick the dog up…only to fold as pain blazed in his side.

"Why, Dee?" he gasped, his hand going to his wound. He felt the blood oozing between his fingers.

She held the bloody knife like a prized trophy, a fire of madness in her eyes. "It pleases me to hurt you, Timothy, after all the hurt you've given me," she said softly. "Hurt you over and over and over."

Jethro growled as she approached Tim again. "Easy, boy," Tim said, getting between her and the dog. If anyone could stop her at this point, it would have to be him.

He reached for his cell phone, but she gestured with the knife again. Too weak to tackle her, he only moved his hand away from the phone. He'd ignored the calls that had come in since he'd arrived at home; now he wished he hadn't.

Likewise, he knew he'd have to be in just the right position, given his limited strength, to get off a shot with his gun. Not that he could shoot her, anyway. Not DeeDee. His girl. The woman he loved.

_She doesn't really mean any of this. She's just crying out for help…_

"Can we talk, Dee?" he said. His only hope—and Jethro's—was to get her to see reason.

"Maybe I don't want to talk. Maybe _you_ talk too much," she said coldly. Not taking her eyes off him, she again moved to the refrigerator, and took from it the pitcher of punch. Getting a tumbler from the drying rack at the sink, she poured a glass for him. "I'm offended that you haven't enjoyed the punch I made for you. Now drink."

_What a strange thing to demand right now._ "Uh, I'm not thirsty."

"I. Don't. _Care_!" she said, just below the level of a scream. "You're going to drink it because I say so!"

He swayed a little, but was reluctant to sit down. Instinct, and training, told him that he'd be at an advantage to make a move if he remained standing. In three gulps he'd swallowed the punch, although it didn't make him feel any better."

"You're so much more pleasant to be around when you obey me," she smirked. She refilled the glass. "Drink again."

"No," he protested weakly. "Dee, I need an ambulance. Jethro needs help. If you really love us, leave now. I'll make up a story. I'll say I accidentally injured the two of us. I won't implicate you."

She seemed to consider. "They'd believe that, maybe. Because you're kind of klutzy. Cute, but klutzy. I've never figured out how you hold onto the job of yours; you clumsy old goof." She laughed.

His face flamed. "Now, wait a minute, Dee. Why are you always putting me down? I don't do that to you."

"Are you _daring_ to question me?" Her face was horrible; a Medusa. "I am _perfection,_ Timothy. You don't deserve me. You have _failed_ me. You've been a waste of my precious time. No more, though. I'm ending this."

- - - - -

"Lights on in his apartment," said Ziva as the team pulled up in front of his building.

"Still no answer on his phone," said Tony.

Gibbs gestured. "DiNozzo—back entrance. David, take the front with me."

They met up at Tim's door. "No, Dee; don't…please…" they heard, followed by a scream. That was their invitation to burst in.

DeeDee was standing over Tim's supine form, a heavy skillet in her hand. He had a hand weakly raised to fend her off.

"Drop it, lady!" Tony commanded, his sig leveled. Gibbs and Ziva likewise had her in their sights.

"He has to be punished," she said to them, turning glazed eyes on them momentarily. She swung the skillet down towards Tim's head in a powerful arc…

…but it clattered off his chest as three simultaneous shots dropped her.

"McGee. My God. What did that witch do to you?" Tony asked, while Ziva phoned for an ambulance.

"Forget about me," Tim said in a choking voice. "She…stabbed Jethro. Get him to a…"

"I'll do that, McGee," said Gibbs, the dog already in his arms. "Don't worry. It's over. It's finally over." He didn't spare a glance toward the dead woman. She wasn't worth it now. There would be time to stare at her, and glare at her, later, and (if he was feeling particularly uncharitable), time to spit on her grave. No, he wouldn't go that far. But he would never feel sorry for her, or pretend to do so.

- - - - -

Later, Gibbs sat beside Tim's bed in the hospital. Night had fallen, and the world seemed at peace.

He didn't often apologize, but when he did, he was direct. "I let you down, McGee. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, boss. I'm glad you all came when you did. I couldn't…"

"You couldn't hit a woman."

"No. I mean, yes. I couldn't. I wish there had been another way…" A couple of tears rolled down Tim's cheeks.

"She was prepared to kill you, McGee. It was the only way to stop her."

"She was mentally ill. She must have been. I could have gotten her help."

"No, McGee. We can't save everyone, not even the ones who need saving. Life isn't that fair. You know that."

"If I had been better, somehow…"

Gibbs' tone became a little sharp. "No, you stop that line of thinking right now. _None_ of this was your fault. You were the victim here. If anyone, besides that demon, is to blame, it's me."

Tim blinked. "You? How do you figure that??"

"I saw the signs that someone was abusing you—the injuries, the malaise, the self-doubts—and I ignored them. I've had supervisory training on recognizing these in employees, but…I wasn't prepared to believe that it could happen to you."

"Why?"

Gibbs looked down at his hands. "Because you're a man. And I fell into the trap of thinking that only women can be abused. Even though I've seen a couple of cases of it in the field. I didn't expect it would happen to a male agent."

Tim thought. "I wasn't willing to admit to it, either, even though deep down I thought something must be wrong."

"Why, Tim?"

"Because…because I wanted her to love me. And I was so afraid of losing her."

When Gibbs didn't say anything, Tim rambled on. "I guess I got what I had coming to me. The universe is telling me that I'm better off alone."

Gibbs scratched his head. "Aw, now, we could sit here all night and I could tell you that searching for love is still worth it, despite my track record with ex-wives. But forget that. Forget that your experience had anything at all to do with wanting to find love. You let yourself become a victim when you wouldn't defend yourself."

"But I didn't suspect…"

"I know. But you should have. You're an investigator. That punch—there's poison in it. Abby's determining just what it is. The demands on your time, the sequestering you from your friends, the threats…"

Tim nodded, miserably. "She said I was stupid. She said it often enough that she had me believing it."

"She had quite a record of leaving broken hearts. You were just her latest. DiNozzo told you about the background check we did."

"I must have _loser_ written all over my face."

Gibbs only smiled slightly, and then looked at his watch. "I've never noticed that. Well, Abby's going to check on your pooch at the animal hospital after she finishes in the lab. As I mentioned earlier, he's going to be fine. One thing, McGee…"

"What's that, boss?"

"People like DeeDee Alanson are insidious. You can't spot them right away; you don't recognize that they're trouble until you're in deep. Don't feel bad about having been taken in, initially."

"Got it…I think I'm going to sleep some now."

"You do that. I'll come visit you tomorrow." Gibbs rose and walked out, glancing back to see that Tim's eyes were already closed.

And he remembered something else from his supervisory training class: _You will never forget the first domestic abuse case that you encounter in an employee. Shrug this off now, but if you miss the warning signs, you'll feel the guilt the rest of your life._

Things could have turned out so much worse.

And Gibbs didn't doubt that he would remember this…forever.

-END-


End file.
